


Shuddhi

by Fiera94



Category: Baahubali (Movies)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-28
Updated: 2017-09-29
Packaged: 2019-01-06 12:48:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12211608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fiera94/pseuds/Fiera94
Summary: A quarter of a century later, Devasena meets her son again. The infant she gave up is now a man, and she is a time-worn captive. How do they find each other again?*Missing conversation between Devasena and Mahendra on the night before the final battle*





	1. Prelude

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! :)  
> This is my navaratri contribution to the fandom, honoring Goddess Maha Guari. A heartfelt thanks to @spiffycups for the well crafted summary and for beta-ing this story! Thank you for having the patience to correct so many of my mistakes! :)

A single drop of water slid down his cheek, falling into the small pond of crystal clear water. Shivudu watched in fascination when ripples formed on the surface of the water, disrupting the stillness and blurring the reflection of his face.

His life had been clear and straight forward so far, proceeding along the expected tangent. But a single night, a single ripple, had disrupted his very identity.

Hadn’t he always wondered who he was? What his purpose was? He’d always been sure that he was meant for more…Hadn’t he known, perhaps in some corner of his heart, that he had never belonged in the village with his mother and father? Adoptive mother and father, he corrected himself.

_Adoptive._

He’d been living oh, so happily when his mother-his own mother!- was going through hell. He’d wasted so much time... _so much time._ As he pranced through life- laughing and joking with his friends, eating delicious meals cooked to suit his taste, sleeping on a comfortable bed, teasing his Sanga Ma and even wooing Avantika- his mother had been waiting patiently for him, suffering through insults and abuse with a firm conviction that her son was alive. If only he’d listened to his instincts sooner…

But Shivudu…no, Mahendra, was not prone to brooding. He did not want to reminisce over the past. He wanted to focus on the future…

And the first step into the future involved going to see the woman who had given birth to him.

Pushing himself up, Mahendra sighed as he looked up at the stars. With the image of his mother in his eyes, he stepped away from his solitary perch next to the pond and started walking back to the camp that the people of Mahismathi- his army- had set up.

The last he’d seen of her, Sanga Ma and Avantika had been escorting his mother into one of the tents and Mahendra had had to fight the urge to follow them. He knew he would be useless at treating her wounds and would only get in the way. It been hours ago and he could only hope that they were done by now.

He needed to speak to his mother.

Maharani Devasena, his mind supplied. His mother was Maharani Devasena; the queen of Kuntala, the rightful rajmata of Mahismathi and the widow of the great Amarendra Baahubali.

An iron-willed woman with nerves of steel, infinite patience and endless belief.

_Belief on him._

Was he worthy of it? He desperately wanted to be…

The idea of her was terrifyingly intimidating, despite having seen her in such a helpless condition. With his heart in his mouth, he walked; wondering what he could say to her. He had already promised her vengeance by guaranteeing Bhallaladeva’s death. Would she want anything more?

Would she want _him?_

“Shivudu?” a hesitant voice broke his reverie.

He looked up to find that Sanga had intercepted his solitary walk. Mentally cursing himself for being so lost in thought that he was unaware of his surroundings, he forced a smile and took a step closer to that mother who’d raised him.

His heart clenched at the anguish and pity in her eyes.

“Ma, please!” he appealed, walking forward to grip her shoulders gently. “Don’t look at me like that. Everything’s going to be fine.”

Sanga smiled sadly and raised a hand to his cheek.

“Ma…”

“When we found out that you had climbed the waterfall,” Sanga said, eyes distant. “Your father suggested that perhaps you had found your own people. Do you know what my first thought was? I feared that you wouldn’t come back to me. You wouldn’t call me ma anymore-”

“Ma!” He was aghast that she’d entertained such thoughts.

“I was so selfish,” Sanga continued with a sigh. “I loved you so much and I couldn’t bear the thought of losing you.”

“You won’t.” Shivudu said vehemently.

“I know that now,” Sanga soothed. “I realized that, the moment you called me mother even after hearing the stories of your real parents.”

Shivudu nodded silently.

“I kept you away from the waterfall for so long,” Sanga continued regretfully. “If only I’d let you go sooner, perhaps your mother wouldn’t have-”

“It’s not your fault,” Shivudu said, despite the fact that he’d been thinking along the same line moments ago. But he would never blame Sanga Ma. Her attempts at stopping him from climbing had never really worked anyway.

“Go see her,” Sanga urged, pushing him away gently. “She needs you and I know that you need her.”

Shivudu smiled, squeezed her hand and turned around, walking away from his adoptive mother but vowing to never walk away from his past.

Concentrating on the instinct that had led him to his mother in the first place, Shivudu soon switched directions when he sensed that she wasn’t in the tent that he’d seen her enter a while ago. Giving into the pull, he let it lead him to the lone tent pitched at the far end of the clearing.

Taking a deep breath and swallowing, Shivudu steeled himself and pushed aside the flap of the tent.

There she sat with her back to him, the woman he’d known only for a day and yet, loved so fiercely. Was this how the bond between parents and their offspring worked? Did they love each other unconditionally, even when they didn’t know each other?

Avantika who sat at his mother’s feet, leapt up when she saw him. She looked a little wary but he didn’t have the energy to assuage her. Her time for questions would come and he would tell her how much he loved her and how nothing had changed. But that time was not now.

The elderly man who had seemed to be Avantika’s leader had a small smile to spare for Shivudu.Taking a clearly reluctant Avantika by the elbow, he exited the tent quietly.

It was only the two of them now, mother and son alone at last.


	2. Reunion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! I hope people are reading this. If yes, please do let me know ;)
> 
> Massive thanks to @spiffycups for beta-ing the story :)

Mahendra stepped aside to let Avantika and her leader exit the tent, refusing to meet their eyes. He did not need distractions, not when he was about to talk to his mother for the very first time. Thankfully, the pair passed him silently.

Mentally praying to his Lord Shiva, he reentered the tent.

His mother had not moved at all. She still sat with her back to him and didn’t turn around when he took a small step into the tent.

Mahendra's nervousness heightened.

Did she not want him there? Was he simply intruding?

His feet itched to retreat but he remained frozen in place. He was unable to give into the desire to flee because just as strong was the desire to stay at her side...

_He couldn't leave._

He suspected that he would never be able to leave her.

“Am-amma?” Mahendra’s voice cracked when he uttered the word. He marveled at how right it felt to be calling her amma and yet, he was anguished that it had taken him so long to address her.

Devasena closed her eyes, suppressing the tears that threatened to overflow at the sound of her son calling out to her. She wondered why it had taken him so long to seek her out. She’d not consented to getting a bath and having her wounds treated until Mahendra returned to her. When there was no sign of him, she'd decided to concentrate on the people very much present and waiting for her.

She’d been reunited with her brother, talked to young Avantika and the well meaning citizens of Mahismathi. She’d even spared a moment to thank her brother’s band of rebels from her homeland and had also made time for Mahendra’s adoptive parents. But there had been no sign of her son. Until now.

“Come in,” she answered when she felt confident that her emotions were within her grasp.

Mahendra’s footsteps inched closer and she wondered why he took such small steps. Perhaps he was uncertain.

Playing with the frayed edges of the saree, she waited for him to walk around to face her. She had to let him come to her. She didn’t want her affection, her all-consuming love for him to scare him away…

Mahendra stopped on his way to her, noticing the bowl of sandalwood paste kept on a nearby table. He picked it up, only then noticing that his hands were trembling slightly.

Swallowing, he crouched down to sit at Devasena’s feet. Unable to meet her eyes, he gestured vaguely to her hands.

“May I?” he asked, wondering if she could hear the anxiety in his voice.

Devasena mustered a nod, her eyes greedily drinking him in even as he continued to avoid her gaze. He looked so much like her Amarendra but Devasena could clearly see the minute differences as well. His hair was a little curlier, his nose a little sharper, his form a lot leaner. She was delighted to find that he’d inherited the sharp chin from her side of the family, a reminder that he was the descendant of Kuntala as much as he was of Mahismathi.

When Devasena stretched out her right arm, Mahendra gently took her hand in his. Using his free hand, he scooped up the paste from the bowl and reverently applied it to the handcuff marks around her wrist.

“I like Avantika.” Devasena approached tentatively.

But Mahendra just nodded, focusing on keeping his sudden burst of anger to himself. As he applied the paste, he got a good look at the various cuts and lacerations marring her skin and it threatened to overwhelm him. He knew he was close to either shouting or walking away, none of which would currently help him. Or them.

“You must have wondered about the man she answered to,” Devasena continued, wishing he’d pay attention to her words and not her wounds. She wasn’t blind, she could see how much it was bothering him to see her cuts and bruises. “He’s my brother.”

At that, Mahendra looked up. “I didn’t know you had a brother.”

Before she could reply, he laughed bitterly and continued, “then again, I don’t know anything about you, do I?”

“Mahendra- ”

“I didn’t know my name was Mahendra,” he told her, his voice shaking with suppressed anger and grief. The light from the overhead lantern reflected in his eyes, emphasizing the pain in them. “I was always Shivudu and- why are you smiling?”

Devasena shook her head, her smile not fading despite the immense grief in her eyes. “You were called Shivudu?”

Mahendra nodded, looking confused.

“That was the name your father used when he was in disguise,” Devasena said, reminding him of the throwaway remark Kattappa had made while narrating the story. He’d marveled at it then but had promptly forgotten about it as the story progressed.

“Everyone says I’m like him,” Mahendra pointed out hesitantly. “Am I?”

Devasena nodded, her smile melancholic.

“But I’m not-” he looked around, searching for the words. “- I am not as clever or as brave-”

“Mahendra.” Devasena cut him off sternly, her pain taking a backseat when confronted with his. “Do not try to convince me that you’re anything less than what you are. I may not have known you throughout your life as I should have-”

Both were quiet for a moment, looking away from each other before Devasena continued with a shaky laugh: “I saw you out there, Mahendra. Infiltrating the palace right under that rakshasa’s nose, freeing his most wanted prisoner, escaping the clutches of the city guard…” she shook her head, biting her lip slightly to control her emotions. “You’re everything I’d hoped for, Mahendra. I couldn’t ask for anything more.”

Mahendra’s eyes filled with tears and he desperately tried to stop them from flowing. “Amma…”

“I can’t even begin to describe what you mean to me,” Devasena continued, getting choked as she remembered her first glimpse of his face. She’d sensed his presence before she’d seen him, running towards her with that face that was so similar to his father’s. She’d observed his reaction to seeing her in chains and the subsequent brawl born out of his anger. She was beyond grateful that he’d come for her, just like she’d always believed.

She knew, beyond doubt, that he would always justify the faith she had in him.

“Seeing you like that,” Mahendra’s eyes were red with suppressed tears, caught up in the same memory as his mother. “It was the worst moment of my life. I didn’t even know what you meant to me and yet-”

“And yet,” she finished with a sigh, patting his hand that had ended up in hers.

“That man I killed,” Mahendra hesitated, his voice gravelly. “He was Bhallaladeva’s son?”

“Bhadra, yes.”

“The way he talked to you…” Mahendra trailed off, remembering that heart stopping moment after he’d regained consciousness. Seeing his mother in chains, in the clutches of a man who sprouted vile accusations about her, had sparked such a wave of anger within him that he was still reeling from the aftereffects.

“I’ve had worse,” Devasena answered without thinking, her mind dwelling on the way her son had cut off Bhadra’s head for insulting her. It was strange, maybe, but not so surprising that they had such a bond with each other. Blood was a strange but strong force…

Mahendra, on the other hand, was very aware of the way she’d answered so nonchalantly. He’d heard of her suffering, he’d seen her condition with his own eyes and yet, a small reminder of the vastness of her plight obliterated his meager control on his emotions.

Devasena reeled back in shock when Mahendra buried his face in her lap, shudders gripping his body. His hunched form heaved, dispelling the tears of anguish that he’d tried to suppress all night.

“Oh, Mahendra!” Devasena ran her fingers through his hair as he cried, letting out the myriad emotions he’d experienced in the span of one day. Devasena’s eyes burned as her son fell apart, mumbling apologies over and over.

“Mahendra, Mahendra…” She lovingly lifted his face from her lap, rubbing his tears away even as hers flowed for the first time in a very long time. “It’s okay. It’s all okay, _kandha_ *. There’s no need to be sorry. Shh, now. It’s fine.”

She soothed him as he cried, her tears mixing with his as she pulled him to her.

Dimly, Devasena was reminded of the fact that this was the very first time she was hugging her son.

She’d not been given a chance to hold him and savor the joy of being a mother before everything went to hell. She could clearly remember it like it was yesterday; the scared whispers of her husband’s death, marching to the palace to desperately seek answers and seeing Kattappa’s bloody hands. Even Sivagami’s repentance and Bhallaladeva’s threats, insults and his infuriating smirk were all muddled into a giant whirlwind before it settled down, leaving behind fragments of her heart and iron chains for company.

Then her penance had begun.

With single minded devotion, she’d prayed for her son’s return. She had braved the sun, wind, rain and storm as part of her penance, her atonement for whatever part she’d played in triggering the disaster.

All she wanted was vengeance.

All she needed was her son whole and safe.

Her son was everything she’d hoped for and more. A part of her and Amarendra Baahubali.

Clutching him closer to her, Devasena vowed to be there for him till her death. She would be there to see him get married, she would carry his children in her arms and she would ensure that her family would be repaired. This, she would do.

When Mahendra finally looked up to meet her eyes, she could see a similar resolve in his eyes as well. Together, they would make sure that they were never torn apart again…

It was quite some time before they let go of each other, separating only when Sanga entered the tent with a bowl of porridge for Devasena. Mahendra took the bowl himself, spooning mouthful of porridge and blowing on it until it cooled. Only then would he raise the spoon to feed his mother. Sanga kept Devasena distracted by telling her stories of Mahendra’s childhood, silently resolving to keep their minds away from tomorrow’s battle.

Having both his mothers close to him filled Mahendra with a deep sense of joy and contentment, which only increased when he saw how well the two of them got along. Devasena relished Sanga’s stories and mentally thanked her _Mukundha_  for providing her son with such a loving family.

Mahendra, for his part, mostly stayed silent. When he ensured that his mother was properly fed, he lay with his head on her lap. He didn’t mind the torn and tattered saree she wore, nor the dirt and mud clinging to her visage. To him, it represented the suffering she had been through and a great strength of character.

But he could sense that she wasn’t comfortable in those clothes. She kept picking at the holes in the saree and scratched at her mud-coated skin. Berating himself for not noticing it sooner, Mahendra excused himself and soon returned with two large tumblers filled with hot water. Sanga nodded approvingly, pulling over a large copper tub that had been placed in the tent by the kind villagers.  

“Come, Amma.” Mahendra coaxed, gently pulling his mother to his feet. Sanga left the tent to call for Avantika and Mahendra led Devasena over tub, helping her sit comfortably.

“Let me do the shastra,” he said playfully, picking up one of the tumblers. “Before Avantika and others come over to steal my thunder.”

Mahendra was beyond pleased with himself when his mother laughed, a precious sound that he resolved to hear more often.

“Brace yourself,” he warned softly, lowering the vessel carefully over her head.

Devasena’s eyes closed as the warm water touched her skin. The only baths she’d had for twenty five years were the incessant rains that had poured down Mahishmathi for four months every year. Each day of the rainy season had forced Devasena to huddle in the corner of the iron cell for some nonexistent relief and warmth.

If she'd hoped that the rain would wash away the physical effects of her suffering, she was sorely mistaken. The rain made it worse, her sorrows manifesting in the form of the stagnant water that sat at the bottom of her iron cage, stubborn and clinging to her even as she tried to climb away. She’d caught the worst of colds, fever and even pneumonia during some years of heavy rainfall. The only reason she’d made it through all that was because of the blind faith she had in the man before her.

_Her son._  The symbol of her hope and the hope of thousands of citizens of Mahismathi.

As the water washed away the dirt and grime clinging to her skin, Devasena vowed to wash away the evil that was Bhallaladeva. Water might be enough to cleanse her but Mahismathi would only be cleansed by the tyrant's ashes. Her son would make him bleed, each drop of his blood would be spilt in remembrance of his evil deeds. He would suffer as she had, he would die as Sivagami had and he would burn like her husband had.

Come tomorrow, vengeance would be hers.

Her penance would finally bear fruit and it would be her son on the throne of Mahismathi.

Her salvation would be attained.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * kandha is an affectionate Kannada word for 'child'
> 
> How was the chapter? Too out of character? Comment and let me know what you think :)
> 
> The story is named Shuddhi (purification) because of the parallels between the story of Maha Gauri and Devasena. Having undertaken a severe penance to get Shiva as her husband, Parvati's skin turn black and acquired a coating of dust and grime over the years. When Shiva consented to be her husband, he cleansed using the holy water of Ganga, restoring Parvati's fair skinned complexion. Thus, she came to be known as Maha Gauri, meaning fair-skinned.

**Author's Note:**

> Leave a comment and let me know what you think :)


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